My Very, Very Long-Distance Relationship
by Hannibal-Necromancer97
Summary: Shepard longs to see Tali again, despite the fact he's stuck on Mindoir. How this works out is to be seen! ...Just not now. (Heavy-AU. Sequel to "Before the Storm", which I recommend reading first.)
1. Dear Tali

_Dear Tali,_

_It's me, John. I've been doing some thinking since you left. My whole reason for staying cooped up here on Mindoir was because I'd never been convinced anything interesting was out there. But now I know there is… You. And now that you're gone, everything's a lot slower back here; Ken and Gabby returned to the Alliance, and I'm no longer needed at the clinic. I really want to see you again, but I'm not sure how I'm going to do that yet…_

_I don't know if this message will ever reach you, but if it does: please, write back._

_Missing you,_

_John_

/-/

Time elapsed: 1 week and 3 days (TCU)

Shepard was tearing himself apart. He wanted to see this girl again, but he couldn't without leaving Mindoir, and the only ways out were either hijack a batarian slave ship or join the Alliance. Since neither sounded appealing, he returned to his day job at the impound shop.

He really didn't want to, but he needed the money. It didn't help at all that he was working in the very hangar that his now long-distance relationship had launched from. He sulked, moving to his station to start working.

"Hey, John," his coworker, Mark, greeted. "How're you, today?"

"Fine, I guess…" Shepard responded, which was basically a lie.

"Something got you down?" asked another employee; Mark's current girlfriend, Frieda.

"Nothing," Shepard answered.

Mark raised an eyebrow, but shrugged off Shepard's strange behavior and proceeded back to work. Frieda, however, was not so easily quelled. "Come on, Shep," she said. "We're your friends. If something's wrong, you can tell us. Right, Mark?"

"Can we please just get back to work?" Mark pleaded.

"Thanks anyway, Frieda," Shepard said, starting away, "but I doubt you could do anything to help…"

/-/

_Dear Tali,_

_Firstly, I realize the chances of these letters reaching you are slim to none, but writing them helps me take my mind off things… And second, only after sending the previous letter did it occur to me you probably don't read English, so attached is a translation for that and the letter you're reading. I had to go to several sites on the Extranet to find a working English-to-Khellish translator, and it didn't work amazingly either._

_Back to the subject at hand, though. I can't sleep lately; all I can think about is you. Just knowing you're out there is driving me mad. I miss you, and would do damn-near anything to see you again. I'd go looking for you, if I only knew where to look… Write back if this finds its way to you, okay?_

_Sincerely,_

_John_

/-/

Several hours passed, and Shepard was still sulking. Mark just wanted to get his work done for the sake of not getting in trouble with the boss again, but Frieda was still trying to help. "If he wants to mope," he said to his irate girlfriend, "then let him. It's healthier if we just leave him be."

"Your best friend is emotionally drained," she responded, "and you're not raising so much as a finger to help him!"

"What am I supposed to do, Fries? Take him out clubbing to find him a new lady to cry about when she leaves? Trust me; I know what I'm doing."

"Then you should know that it's not helping."

"Neither is you two arguing," Shepard said, approaching the pair. "I know you mean well, Frieda… But, for my sake, just leave it alone. Please."

"I can't," she replied. "It's not in my nature to leave a friend to his own devices if that means he's going to rip himself apart out of grief!"

"Even if I wanted you to help, you couldn't!" Shepard's eyes began to water as he spoke. "Don't you get it? You have to understand that not all problems can be solved as easily as holding a conversation!" He took a seat, slumping over from the weight of his emotions. "Sometimes, I wish they could… But they can't." He buried his face in his palms, heaving a loud sigh.

"…Well, John," Frieda said, kneeling next to him, "my philosophy is: 'Anything can be done, but nothing will unless you try.' You see whatever's got you down as unfeasible, yet I see it as a challenge to be completed. Even though you don't want to talk about it…" she placed a hand on his shoulder, "I just want you to tell me."

Shepard wiped his eyes and explained the events up to this point: Tali, his volunteer work, and her inevitably leaving. When he was finished, Mark let out a long whistle. "That was quite the story."

"So you're all sad because she left?"

Shepard nodded. "It's only been a week and I'm already fed up with her being gone… I just wish we'd had a little more time together."

"Well," Mark chimed, "it's not like she died. She just left to complete this pilgrimage thing. And from the sound of your explanation, you two were together for about three months."

"Not helping," Frieda glared. "Anyway, it sounds like the only remedy for you is to see this girl again."

"How?" Shepard sat upright. "She blasted off into space God-knows-where ten days ago. It's impossible…"

"Well, you know what they say," Mark said. "Only the impossible is worth doing. Now, we know that this 'Tali' babe shot off into space. So step one, obviously, is get into space. She's a quarian, so step two should be along the lines of 'look for quarian dames that look like Tali.' Simplicity itself."

"Except one problem: There's no way off of Mindoir."

"Hm… Have you considered hijacking a slave ship?"

"Not gonna happen."

"Then that kinda leaves us with the one option."

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_Dear Tali,_

_It's me again. My friends tried to cheer me up today to no avail, but I appreciated their effort. They actually suggested that I should join the army just to see you again. Can you believe it? I myself have never considered signing my life away…_

_However, my options for leaving _are_ limited… If this reaches you, write back, okay?_

_Yours truly,_

_John_


	2. A Uniform, and the Man Who Filled It

Clint was sitting at the front desk today at the clinic, thumbing through the latest _Men's Quarterly,_ when he saw the ex volunteer John Shepard walk in. Rather than speak, Clint ducked behind the periodical, watching the engineer from the safety of his desk.

He observed as Shepard seated himself in the lounge, scribbling something on a pad of paper. Clint could have watched the strokes he made, having mastered the art of eavesdropping, but this was unnecessary as Shepard held the note up to face him. In large-printed letters, the pad said: "Come here."

The orderly sighed, set his article down, and went over to accompany his friend. Meanwhile, Shepard tossed the scrap paper into a nearby trash bin, setting the pad face-down. "What's up?" Clint asked informally.

"Not too much," Shepard replied. "Not recently."

"How're you holding up after… you know?"

"Just fine," he answered. "I can't complain."

"So, why are you here?"

"I just thought I'd drop by, say hello, you know."

Clint could no longer contain his curiosity. He pointed to the clipboard in Shepard's hand, "What do you have there?"

"Hm?" Shepard glanced at the pad as though it was nothing special, "Oh, nothing really."

The medic swiped the note from his friend, "Right." He flipped through the pages, finally stumbling upon an information form. Clint looked at Shepard. "What's this?" he asked confirmation.

"Like I said, it's nothing."

"Well, 'nothing' looks a lot like an Alliance Military application form apparently." He handed the pad back. "I thought you said you weren't interested?"

"I wasn't at first. Then something occurred to me: I wasn't interested in the sights throughout the galaxy; I never gave the people that live there a shot. If I meet the right people, then I may have a good reason to go."

"No, no-no-no," Clint shook his head. "I think I know what this is really about." He crossed his arms, giving his friend an accusatory look. "Or should I say 'whom'?"

"What are you talking about?" Shepard twitched.

"Dude, you just got over her. Chances are: she's over you, too!"

"This isn't about her!" He stood, purposely using Clint as a support. "I'm just trying to make the galaxy a better place." Shepard glared at the medic, continuing his rant, "Now, you have been nit-picking since I admitted I was interested in Tali, and I'm sick of it. All I ask is that for once you accept the fact _before_ second-guessing it!"

Clint stuttered, "I-I understand what-"

"No. You don't, Clint. You don't understand at all. So why don't I say it in a way that you'll understand?" He dragged Clint to a standing position, growling words through clenched teeth, "I will gladly throw myself into the fire and claw my charbroiled ass back out, if it only meant I didn't have to take any more shit from you!"

Shepard threw Clint back into his seat, and nearly did worse than spook him before being interrupted by a single pair of applauding hands. He turned around, his adrenaline soon faded when the hands' owner came forward. He was dressed in a sleek navy uniform, with several medals on his lapel. His skin was light brown, his face was wrinkled, and his militant hair was the color of rust. He was tall with muscular arms and a chest like a lead block. He looked at Shepard with bold, dark blue eyes. "Just the kind of man we're looking for," he said in a gruff, lightly accented voice.

Shepard looked back at Clint before approaching the soldier. "What are you talking about? Who are you?"

The officer held out his hand. "Commander Hendel Mitra, Alliance Navy. You're John Shepard, correct?"

"Yeah," he answered, hesitantly shaking Mitra's hand. He wasn't nervous; just wary that the man would break him in half. "Why?"

"We've been scouting you for some time now. We deemed it necessary to recruit you before you maimed our friend there."

"Who?"

"Me." Clint stood, still rattled by Shepard's earlier outburst. "I haven't been completely honest with you, pal. Sorry." He shot Mitra a look, "You sure took your sweet time, Commander."

"Clint?" Shepard looked back and forth between Clint and Mitra confusedly. "You're in on this?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. Dr. Clinton Lloyd, Alliance Navy; I'm a psychiatrist."

"And he's got a few notes on your psyche profile." Mitra flipped through a notepad Clint handed him, reading out loud: "Determined, tenacious, low temper."

"Temper?" Shepard asked.

"That was a guess on my part, given the scene you just caused a moment ago." He continued, "From what you just said, you must also be willing to sacrifice yourself for the good of the mission, right?"

"That was the temper talking."

"It was justified," Clint piped up. "I _have_ been kind of a prick. But it was in the name of research, mind you."

"Duly noted," Mitra nodded. "And Shepard, you can just toss that application in the trash. My being here means we want you to join."

"You know, if you're still interested..."

Shepard thought about it briefly before he saluted Commander Mitra, "Yes, sir."

"Then pack your bags, Private, because we shove off at seventeen hundred."

The new recruit counted up on his fingers, working out that seventeen hundred was supposed to mean five o' clock. "Got it, sir." Shepard rushed home to grab the bare minimum things he would take with him in his new life in the military.

/-/

_Dear Tali,_

_I just thought I'd write you another letter. It calms my nerves, you know?_

_I think I finally thought of a way to see you again, if you're still interested. I'll be on the lookout for you out in the galaxy. Write me back if this finds you, but it'll have to come to my new address._

_Missing you,_

_Private John Shepard, Alliance Navy_


	3. Day Zero

_Dear Tali,_

_Thought I'd write you another letter, seeing as that's the only other thing to do here. Military life isn't really all it's cracked up to be, but I'll do what it takes to see you again._

_I've gotta go. I hope this reaches you, wherever you might be._

_Truly yours,_

_John_

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"A-ten, hut!" the drill sergeant yelled. All of the new recruits stood at attention along the yellow line, which led from the crew quarters of the SSV Britannia all the way to the mess hall. A foot behind, the corporals were lined up on a blue line, which stretched from the crew quarters to the armory. The drill sergeant, one Jacques Matthias, was standing erect, looking over the fresh meat that was the Privates of the Alliance Navy.

He marched over to the leftmost end of the lineup; to the soldier just three people out from Shepard's right, he shouted: "What is your name, private?"

The recruit responded with little hesitation. "Sir! Michelangelo Morris, Sir!"

Sgt. Matthias continued down the line, forcing the names Francis James, Melin D'Mones, and Jack Clyde, before coming to Shepard. "What is your name?"

"Sir!" he answered, "Private John Shepard, Alliance Navy, Sir!"

The sergeant grinned, addressing the rest of the recruits: "You see that? Boy remembered to give his rank, name, and affiliation! You will all do so when spoken to by another soul! This is Alliance Navy; remember all that you learn in the coming months and you just might live to your next birthday." On that note, he continued down the line.

After the rest of the thirty-some-odd recruits were done being introduced, Sgt. Matthias addressed the entire company again. "Recruits, welcome to Day Zero: the first day of basic training. Privates, you will all run around this deck, making fifty full laps before resting. Then you will race another fifty laps the other way. Corporals, you will all run the obstacle course in the middle of the cargo hold fifty times apiece."

Jack Clyde leaned over to Shepard, whispering. "Fifty must be this guy's favorite number."

"Yeah," Shepard replied in a low voice, "I guess it is."

"I'm Clyde."

"Shepard."

"You see the asari girl next to me?"

"D'mones?"

"Yeah. Pretty hot, right?"

"I guess so, if you're into asari."

Less than a second later, Sgt. Matthias had both of them by the collars. "Do not speak unless spoken to, maggots!"

"Yessir!" Shepard responded.

"Sir!" Clyde said, "Technically, he was being spoken to, Sir!"

Matthias glared at him. "You just got another twenty laps around the deck, smartass!"

"Whatever happened to fifty, sir?" He grinned.

The sergeant's face was as red as a tomato at that point. To avoid Clyde getting maimed, Shepard piped up: "Sir, if you're going to punish anyone, then let it be me. I was out of line and will take full responsibility for my actions, sir!"

Matthias thought briefly before assigning punishment to the rookies. "Private Clyde, after the rest of the recruits have completed their hundred laps, you will perform another twenty-five laps in each direction. Private Shepard, you will do one hundred push-ups meanwhile. Understood?"

"Sir, yes sir!" they answered simultaneously.

"Very good," he said. "Now move out!"

/-/

_Dear Tali,_

_Military life is tougher that they make it look. That's saying something; they already make it look like hell. I'm surviving though: I've already met a guy who seems used to pissing people off, and his big mouth got us both in trouble._

_I wonder what you must be doing out in the galaxy? I bet you're living it up right about now, huh?_

_Write me back if this finds you, okay?_

_Miss you,_

_John_

_PS: Did you know Clint was a psychiatrist for the Alliance? I didn't._

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After Shepard and Clyde finished off their extra torture, the Privates were dismissed to go eat. As one can imagine, the first meal of the two hundred fifty days of training was everything but edible. Shepard thought he heard his serving growl at him. Instead of eating, he, Clyde, D'mones, James, and Morris decided to chat. "What is this stuff?" Clyde said, poking his pile of goo with a fork.

"I think it was oatmeal at one point," replied Morris.

D'mones gave him a skeptical look. "I don't know," she said. "It doesn't look like it."

"Nah, see? There's some grits," James said, pointing with his spoon, "right there. See 'em?"

D'mones frowned, addressing Shepard, "You're Shepard, right?"

"That's what they call me." They shook hands before he continued, "D'mones, right?"

"That's right."

"Tell me, what's an asari doing in the Human Systems Alliance?"

"Well, my dad just so happened to be an Alliance officer. Never came back after a recon mission a few months ago."

"Sorry to hear," James said, taking a break from poking the gray blob on his tray. "How'd he die?"

D'mones cleared her throat. _"She_ never came back from a mission, like I said. Part of me joined to find out why, but mostly it felt right." She shot James a look, "Don't just assume that an asari's father is always male. We can breed with any gender of any species."

"Even me?" Clyde asked.

"I'm spoken for. Nice try, though."

"Worth a shot…"

"Not really," Shepard said, turning back to D'mones. "Please continue."

"There isn't really much else to tell. I don't want to believe she's dead, and they never released the reports from the mission, so I intend to learn the truth. But enough about me," she stated, steepling her hands in front of her. "Why did you join, Shepard?"

Shepard had two options here: he could say either his excuse for joining, or his real reason. Either way, he knew that they would be skeptical. "Well-"

The ship was rocked by a powerful blast, causing everyone not in a seat to land face-first in their oatmeal. The siren wailed through the ship as Sergeant Matthias began shouting orders. "We have geth boarding in the crew quarters! This is not a drill, people, double-time!" He stormed to the rookies, tossing a duffle bag of weapons onto the table. "Everyone take a gun and some clips. It's showtime!"


	4. The Geth

**Note:** Okay, my original plan was to update monthly, but I realize now that that would take entirely too long. Starting now, this story will be updated biweekly. Enjoy the story everyone.

/-/

Shepard and company each grabbed a random weapon from the bag: Clyde got an SMG, D'mones got a shotgun, Morris and James both wound up with assault rifles, and Shepard found himself with a cricket-killer of a pistol. "How am I supposed to fight geth with this?" he asked.

D'mones looked at Shepard's new peashooter. "Mine's bigger," she joked.

"Enough chatter," Matthias said, checking the sights on his tac-sniper. "Morris, James, go find Sergeant Miller. He'll give you your orders. Everyone else, you're with me."

"Sure thing, boss," Clyde said.

Still less than happy with his pistol, Shepard followed the others to the crew cabins. Sounds of gunfire and general panic filled the air, assaulting the Privates' ears. Under better circumstances, the Britannia was a pleasant ship to be stationed on. With the geth now scouring every sector of the ship, it felt as if Shepard and company had walked into Hell itself.

"Hold up," Matthias said, holding up the relevant hand sign. He glanced around, and Shepard thought the sergeant even went so far as to smell for the geth. "Shepard," he pointed to the door next to him, "check this cabin. Clyde, D'mones, move up and get these rooms."

"Aye-aye, sir," they all replied.

Shepard positioned himself next to the door, hearing now what Matthias must have. Separate from the crackling of fire was a shuffling noise from a contact within the room. The recruit opened the door, peering in before proceeding.

It was awfully dark. Even fire scattered here and there did little to light the room. A feeling of dread growing in Shepard's stomach only made the room seem even darker, to the point where he threatened to double back every time something moved even slightly. Ominous darkness, swelling fear, the threat of getting shot, and the only thing poor Private Shepard was armed with was a pistol. He swept his aim across the room, pointing at anything that remotely resembled Tali's definition of the geth.

He sighed. It felt like an eternity had gone by since he last saw his quarian sweetheart, who now was flying to some distant star. _I will see her again,_ he assured himself. _It's just a matter of being in the right place at the right time. Now focus! Geth could come from anywhere at any moment._

Almost as soon as he thought it, a mech with an assault rifle and what seemed to be a flashlight for a head stood from behind a pile of dirty laundry. "Shit!" he yelled, plugging away at the intruder. It took seven shots and fell, just in time for Shepard's pistol to overheat. The gun expelled steam from both sides before closing back up, ready to shoot. _Handy…_ He holstered the handgun, wondering if he couldn't take the synthetic's rifle. To his dismay, the automatic gun had shorted itself out when the operator ceased function, so Shepard was left with his peashooter for the time being. He did one more sweep before exiting the room. "Clear!"

"Clear," D'mones confirmed, followed by Clyde.

"I don't think they came in force," Clyde proceeded. "There was only one guy in there."

"Same here," Shepard said.

D'mones agreed. "Ditto."

Clyde furrowed his eyebrows. "Anyone else have a feeling that something bad is about to happen?"

A metallic thumping could be heard on the other side of the bare wall at the end of the corridor. A dent the size of a beach ball appeared, followed by another, and another. "What now?" D'mones asked.

"Where's Sarge?"

Shepard shook his head. "I don't know, but we have to prepare for whatever's on the other side of that wall. Clyde, set up in the left-hand doorway. D'mones, stack up on the right. I'll draw its attention; see if I can get you some free shots in."

Clyde shrugged. "Better than anything I can come up with. You got biotics, D'mones?"

"Yes. Will we need them?" she replied.

"We need all we can get." Shepard saw the wall begin to bust at the corners. "Get to position."

Once the others were in place, Shepard took a running stance. Once that wall fell, whatever was on the other side was going to need little more than five seconds to raise hell. If he was going to keep its attention on him, he'd have to stay interesting to a machine the size of a brick shithouse. He checked his gun, preparing to become live bait.

The panel sheared in two, revealing a monstrous metal man with yellow armor, an antenna on its back, a lamp on its face, and a heavy plasma rifle in its hands. It acknowledged Shepard's presence with beeps, gurgles, and whirs.

Shepard cursed his pistol's size, and began to fire.


End file.
